Flower,
Bright in sunwash,
Vibrant as the only real thing.
The rest,
Just memory
In bricks and mortar
And all that built
Misunderstanding.
Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice
god
Fishes
In the miraculous fish
That come again and again
Like tide to the table
Forever sustained
And always providing
A predictable nourishment,
We encounter
The earthbound principle
Of abundance
Found in habitat
The world over.
If only we could open our eyes
To the reality of the fish
And discard
All those meagre imposters
Who swim the dark waters
Of our fearful minds,
Whispering demise
Instead of flourishing
On currents
Of forever replenishing
And upwellings of bringing
That swell in offering
Despite our reluctance to see.
Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoive
Coriolous
Flowers
Like all things
Unwind from their beginnings
Curved by the spin
Of worlds
And helices underlying.
All the earths children
Are so marked
By coriolous force
And inescapable laws
Holding us snug to our place
In time revolving.
Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & Distilledvoice
Evolution God
O world
Myriad
And so various
How refined
Your ideas
Brought to definition
In the womb of you!
How perfect
The journey of a flower
In generations’ wandering
And expression.
How fitted this now
In which the blossoms
Burgeon at the lip
Of times curvature.
How right the polyps
Of your creation,
Now
And forever
In your name.
Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice
Spring Dance Of Freedom
The earth turns
In incremental light.
The day expands
In millimetre shoots,
A green touch
Like lovers’ skin
Mirroring pale light
And new sun contours.
Each bulb nestles
In the mother’s pulse,
Follows exact
Circadian match:
The beautiful dance
Of closest partners.
Like all living things
In sweet, earthy bondage,
Not one strays
Nor splits disobedient
From irrefutable law
And physical fact
Of freedom
To be absolved,
And to shadow
First, ethereal footsteps.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016
Anticipation
Slow on dormant
Short day
And soil
Chilled stasis,
Yet latched
To the axis
Of the earth
That will
With solstice turn,
Unwind with light
And spiral out,
First shoot,
Then leaf,
Then the flower’s magnitude,
Until
In swelling apex
And full, green flush
Of potential’s plumpness,
All the tangible world
Expresses its ripeness
And rests gladly
In energy’s hands.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Religion Of War
If religion were expunged
Our ripe blood hearts
And fanatical brains
Would conjure
The sword wet
Dichotomy
Of feuding
Once more
And once again,
And we’d war
For sake of differing
And march
Beneath some other
Banner, flag
Or hot thought
Incendiary
In its desire
To strike out
And baptise
New recruits
In the endless
Cycle of violence.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice
I Could Drink The Mist
I could drink the mist
With inward
Passage
Of breath
Cool and wholesome
To the lungs,
An air
Weighted moist
And though
Still vapour
No less fluid
Deeply quenching
Organs
In their need
To thirst.
Are we not
All sponges,
Open pored,
In-fluxed
And anointed?
Are we not
Osmosed
In love?
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
The Way We Behave
As if
The mind
Were idle fascination,
Full of dreams,
Full of inconsiquencial
Speculation
And non-participation
In the formation
Of the physical world.
As if
Our behaviour
Were cut loose,
Let loose
Unrestricted,
To roam free
Upon the earth
Without ownership
To count
The scores
Of futures conceived.
As if
We were vagrants
Who’s vagrant belief
Were not owned
In the body
But put out
To all visible peers
In blames
Savage hand
And life’s
Absent redundancy.
As if
The mind
Were not
Conceiving machine,
Coating every idea
In touchable cloak,
Transmuting
Idea’s ethereal stream
From unseen secret
To the solid matter
Of the corporeal.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
Unarguably A Flower
We argue
As to the flower’s
Divine conception
Or arrival through
Random chance.
Yet there it is
Manifest despite our thoughts,
Unarguably apparent
To the miracle
Of our eyes.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
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